


The Occurrence of The War Ending

by Wolf_Keryon7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Nymphadora, Bellamione Cult's May Event 2020, Canon What's Canon?, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Not Canon Compliant, soft bellatrix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_Keryon7/pseuds/Wolf_Keryon7
Summary: I think we deserveA soft epilogue, my love.We are good peopleAnd we've suffered enough.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 4
Kudos: 112





	The Occurrence of The War Ending

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kinda don't know what's going on here at all, this has, again, run away from me. Strangely I seem unable to write anything that isn't at least partially about the end of the war at the minute.
> 
> I really ignore canon for most of this, I do have like, further explanations and ideas behind it all, but I didn't want this to become yet another chaptered fic, so.
> 
> I haven't actually read through this in it's entirety, and it's completely unbeta'd, so if there's any glaring mistakes or continuity issues I'm sorry and feel free to let me know!
> 
> Hope you enjoy, WK7

It hadn’t occurred to her over the course of the many, many years that they’d been fighting, that the ultimate goal was for it to come to an end.

She’d always secretly believed she’d die a glorious, bloody death at the hands of the enemy in a fire stricken field of battle as the war raged around her.

There had never been a plan for a regular job, stuck behind a desk in a cramped office in some section of the ministry, or flitting from ward to ward to attend to the needs of variously stricken mages in the halls of St Mungo’s. 

Any ideas she’d held about family and marriage and ‘settling down’ had fallen long ago to the carnage and bloodshed of war and death and constant danger. To the belief that she wouldn’t be around to see through any promises she made, to herself or another.

That was, in fact, why she’d only ever been dismissive of Hermione’s dreams. She’d been cruel about it at first, citing them to be childish and idealistic, when really they were beautiful but so seemingly far from reach it had terrified her.

Later, she had simply become defeated, choosing to hum and nod and plaster a tired, broken smile across her face in response to the late night ramblings of the younger witch.

It hadn’t occurred to her that she would live to see the end of the war, that she would stand, not unharmed or untouched, but alive and all of a sudden free and unburdened, at the crest of a hill that overlooked the ravages of the once aweing Hogwarts.

And it was devastating, to realise that the purpose she had staked her worth to so severely she feared she couldn’t be anything else had found its end. No longer was she a soldier, a spy, a strategist or a strong pair of shoulders on which to rest the world.

No. For the first time in what seemed like an eon, Bellatrix Black was free. And nothing had ever seemed so endless or agonizing.

* * *

A year was spent traipsing around the world trying, sometimes in seeming vain, to figure out what it was she was supposed to do with herself now. 

Hermione sent her regular letters, once a week, detailing everything from the rebuilding of Hogwarts to the restructuring of the Ministry of Magic, something she had managed to find herself deeply entrenched in.

And while Bellatrix longed for the letters on the days they wouldn’t appear, and treasured each and every one when it did, she rarely replied.

Her demons cast shadows around her that stretched for miles, and the distance she’d put between herself and the younger witch had been careful and purposeful, though her heart ached to do it.

She didn’t know how to exist in a time of peace.

Her whole life had been an endless sequence of battle training and strategy sessions and lessons designed to instil fear into her heart for a man her father had believed to be their salvation, but she knew to be their downfall.

Hermione had been the only bright spot for so long, the only one who could calm the perpetual racing of her heart and the paranoia she’d begun to wear as a cloak.

Life as a double agent had a way of tearing your soul in two, but the younger witch, with her insatiable thirst for knowledge and easy smile that crinkled her nose and deep, sincere eyes had held her together in a sometimes confusing mesh of boundless joy and calm and hope.

Without her balancing presence Bellatrix had felt herself falling into destructive habits quickly, going days, sometimes weeks, without more than a few hours of sleep and meager, rushed meals.

The wilds of the world had a way of bringing out the wild of the witch, and it was cathartic in some ways, not to have anyone to answer to, not to be beholden either to a man her father had sold her loyalty to, or a man she had sworn her service to in a desperate bid to keep her sisters safe.

But it was exhausting too, spending endless days wondering what exactly she was trying to achieve in this maelstrom of movement and exploration and education.

She wasn’t simply flitting from place to place of course, that would be incredibly meaningless, instead she visited all of those places she’d dreamed about in what was almost another life. 

The villages hidden deep in the Amazon where mages practised magic long forgotten by the modern world. Indian communities that still lived in huts of mud and straw, but had histories that stretched perhaps further than anyone else. Large, flourishing towns in Australia that held altogether more mages than she’d ever seen in one place from a multitude of backgrounds and upbringings that only served to make their collective selves more interesting and enjoyable.

It was in Australia where she’d accomplished something she hadn’t entirely realised she’d set out to do. 

Namely, find Hermione’s parents. 

It hadn’t been all that difficult when it came down to it. Not many immigrants from Britain to Aus had popped up randomly in the summer of ‘96 with a dental practise already waiting for them.

And Hermione was certainly the spitting image of her mother, with her long, wild chestnut hair and expressive cinnamon eyes, though her father had passed along other traits, his quiet, peaceful aura and bookish nature amongst the few Bellatrix had immediately connected.

No, it hadn’t been hard to find them at all, what had been almost insurmountably difficult was the reversal of the memory charm Hermione had placed on them.

It had taken weeks and weeks, and she’d spent much longer holed up in a tiny room above an Apothecary trying to perfect Arithmancy equations and reverse engineer the, admittedly brilliant, spell than she cared to really think about.

But she’d done it, in the end, and after several nights of heartier meals than the dark witch had had in months and tales of their daughters bravery and brilliance and battle prowess, that she likely should have toned down slightly in hindsight, she’d sent the Grangers on their way back to Britain with half a sheaf of parchment addressed to Hermione and their thanks and more than half hearted attempts to bring her back too ringing in her ears.

It had been more freeing than the end of the war in many ways, to know that she, single handedly, had delivered the one thing that would brighten Hermione’s life and drag her back into the happy moments she’d had in abundance before everything.

The letter she’d received a few days later as she trekked through a forest that she thought was in Poland had filled her heart in a way that made her think maybe, soon, she could return to the witch she’d left behind, and start making some of those promises she’d previously refused.

* * *

The flat was quiet when she slipped into it, sliding the key gently back into its glamored hidey hole as she flicked her wand swiftly and silently to unlace her boots, stepping out of them and nudging them into the space left by the door.

An aching smile split her face at the presence of this seemingly innocuous space, the knowledge that it existed still, a year after the last time she’d used it, making her heart thud strangely and her eyes prickle with unshed tears.

Moving further into the home was all at once familiar and unusual. A coat lay along the back of a chair pushed under a table that lay cluttered with a million things, papers and parchments and books and mugs filling every available space, three small potted plants fighting to hold their position precariously at the edge of the surface.

A blanket lay crumpled at the end of the couch, yet more books stacked on the coffee table before it and an open pot of ink surely drying out next to a roll of parchment and a quill staining the pale wood black. 

Bellatrix shook her head, black curls bouncing across her vision and the smile on her face becoming ever softer as she flicked her wand around the room, stacking the papers and sending the books back to their shelves.

She counted no less than four mugs and a plate that had previously been hidden from her view as they floated through the air to land silently in the sink on the other side of the large room.

The lack of war plans was slightly startling. The large cork board that once held everything from supply house locations to lists of death eater names was conspicuous in its absence, the space it once occupied now filled with bookshelves and pictures and a framed Hogwarts diploma.

Also absent was the table that had once doubled as a strategy station and impromptu meeting location, and Bellatrix wasn’t sure if the jittery feeling its removal left was panic or unadulterated joy.

She sighed, walking slowly toward the back of the flat and examining the pictures that hung along the walls as she went.

A grinning Hermione stared back at her from each of them, sometimes surrounded by other recognisable faces, sometimes squashed between the two boys who had become her brothers in all but blood, Ron’s lanky arm wrapped around her shoulders as he and Harry laughed at something out of frame and Hermione smiled fondly at them.

The anxious feeling she’d been ignoring up to this point spread more thickly along the bottom of her stomach, and she lay a trembling hand against the cool wood of the bedroom door, breathing deeply.

Pushing it open with a click she released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding at the empty room, unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed to find it devoid of Hermione.

Despite the mess that was the living area, Hermione had always kept an immaculately tidy sleeping space, preferring her bedroom to be a retreat from the madness that was the outside world of school and work and war, and Bellatrix found comfort in the fact that this hadn’t changed at all.

She floated through the room, feet light on the carpeted floor and fingers trailing over the personal touches in the room, from the bottles of perfume lined along the vanity, to the muggle fiction books scattered over the windowsill, stopping at the left side of the bed to pick up a frame she was shocked and delighted to find it held the only picture that had ever existed of her and Hermione.

They stood in the middle of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, Bellatrix resplendent in her Slytherin uniform, hair wild and windswept as she grinned fondly down at the witch pressed to her side, occasionally glancing up to wink at the older Bellatrix holding the photo, but it went largely unnoticed as dark eyes bore into the brightly smiling face of a younger Hermione.

Untamed chestnut hair seemed to fill more space than the then much shorter witch, teeth still a little too large and book still clutched to her chest it was a blast from the past that made her heart thump hollowly as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She sat heavily on the bed, tracing a finger lovingly over her features and grinning when picture Hermione looked up and waved, eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun.

The front door clicked shut and Bellatrix froze, putting conscious effort into releasing the tension in her back as the soft sound of sock clad feet on carpeted floors drew nearer to her, eyes glued to the door in anticipation.

A year was an awfully long time from her spot on this bed, and the sudden gripping fear that Hermione might not be pleased with her random arrival back into the home they’d once shared hit her in a wave so strong she gasped.

The door swung open silently, Hermione walking into the room in an absent manner facilitated by the large book she was perusing and Bellatrix gasped again, tears filling her eyes and hands shaking as she took in the woman before her.

She was exactly as the dark witch remembered her, all long legs and curly hair, clad in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with the top few buttons popped to reveal the tanned skin beneath in a tantalising manner.

The blood and grime that had coated her features the last time they’d been together long washed away to allow the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose to be shown, high cheekbones and pouty lips somehow more appealing with the addition of faint scars from battles won in seemingly another age.

And those cinnamon eyes, just as expressive and sincere, wide in surprise and trepidation as they locked onto Bellatrix from across the room where she sat on Hermione’s side of the bed, still clutching the photo of them in school.

“Hey, love. I’m home.”

* * *

Water pounded down on her head in a rhythmic pattern and Bellatrix once again thanked whatever deity had convinced her to agree to getting a muggle flat with Hermione all those years ago.

Sure, magic could do amazing things, but she had yet to experience anything like the water pressure and heat of a muggle shower, and after a year of bathing in random rivers and lakes and relying heavily on cleaning charms it was still like heaven to her weary body.

The sun was just beginning to peak up through the bathroom window and stretched languidly under the spray, running her hand through the thick black hair plastered to her back to ensure the last of the shampoo had washed out.

A month of lounging around and reacquainting herself with Hermione and catching up on everything from the political climate to the new policies surrounding the introduction of muggleborns to the magical world had flown by and the day she had been half dreading, half anticipating had finally arrived.

It was finally time to see her family again.

Bellatrix had a lot of mixed feelings around this particular reunion and she carefully ignored them all as she stepped out the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, grabbing her wand from it’s spot by the sink to twirl through her hair, drying it quickly and smirking at her reflection in the mirror as the curls bounced along her damp shoulders.

It had always infuriated Hermione how her hair just fell easily into natural, boisterous curls, full and thick and a little difficult to manage but controllable all the same.

Stepping through a cloud of steam and into their bedroom her smirk deepened at the sight of Hermione practically fighting with her own hair at the vanity, sauntering over to press a kiss to a shirt covered shoulder and grinning wickedly at the shiver that the younger witch didn’t quite manage to suppress.

“Need a hand, pet?”

The blush that rose in Hermione’s cheeks was just as delicious now as it had always been, and Bellatrix batted her hands away from wild chestnut hair to run her own fingers through it, tugging gently at the tangles she found.

“We don’t have to go today, we could just stay here, in bed? Continue the events of last night?” full lips brushed the shell of Hermione’s ear and the dark witch grinned at the gasp she elicited, pouting when she received a shake of the head.

“We have to go, Bella, they’re your family.” her tone was very matter of fact, but the blush still lighting her cheeks red and the way she chewed on her bottom lip begged to differ.

“You’re my family,” the whine in her own voice was in stark contrast to the scowl pulling at her face, “Besides, my idea sounds much more fun.”

Pale fingers continued to pull at chestnut curls, twisting them into a loose bun that sat atop her head and Bellatrix sighed deeply at the cross look Hermione was shooting her through the mirror.

She patted the top of her head, succeeding doubly in flattening the few flyaways there and annoying Hermione as the younger witch huffed at her, scowling and crossing her arms.

Truthfully, Bellatrix did want to see her family, it had just been so long since she’d last spoken to them. Fearful glances across a field of battle and short notes of warning scribbled hastily when she’d had knowledge of danger to them hardly counted as active communication.

Narcissa had barely finished Hogwarts the last time she’d layed eyes on her, dirt and blood caked across her face and clutching a bleeding wound on her shoulder as she stumbled toward the Great Hall.

Andromeda had been, thankfully, very far away from the final battle, laid up at home with a newborn Hermione had informed her had been named Nymphadora, and Bellatrix didn’t begrudge the child her name in the least even as she longed to meet her.

Sirius had spent so many years locked away in Azkaban that his presence back in her life had never really felt permanent and she’d held no qualms over essentially ignoring him toward the end of the war in an effort to guard herself, or maybe him, from one of their seemingly inevitable deaths.

Her hands twisted together and she twirled the signet ring on her right ring finger agitatedly, frowning down at the carpet letting her hair fall across her face to hide it from view. She did want to see her family, that wasn’t what had her in knots over this little event, it was the idea that her family might not be so pleased to see her.

Hermione turned in her seat to face her, face softening at the anxious picture Bellatrix presented, she took her hands gently and laced their fingers, standing up to press a kiss to the pale column of Bellatrix’s throat.

“It will be fine, darling. They love you,” Bellatrix nodded, glancing up to connect her gaze with the calming eyes of the younger witch, the roiling in her stomach slowing slightly.

Hermione quirked her lips, nudging their noses together as she balanced on her tiptoes, “I love you.”

The words melted through her like honey, warming each of her limbs slowly before settling somewhere near her heart and it amazed her still how those words from Hermione’s lips could make her forget every worry she had despite the hundreds of times she’d surely heard them.

She pressed her lips to the pouty mouth before her, eyes slipping shut as she caught the gentle sigh with her tongue as she swept it across a full bottom lip, begging entrance that was quickly granted. 

Long fingers slipped into wild curls and Bellatrix moaned lightly as they tugged her head back, separating their mouths with a final nip to Hermione’s swollen bottom lip. Their foreheads came to rest against each other as they breathed deeply, Bellatrix tracing her eyes slowly over the planes of Hermione’s face.

She darted forward to press another quick kiss to those sinful lips, smirking at the whine that left Hermione’s mouth before breaking away to move across the room and get dressed.

Glancing over her shoulder at the still slightly awestruck witch she held up two shirts, raising an eyebrow questioningly and chuckling dryly at the quick choice of the low cut, nearly sheer shirt.

* * *

The sound of a child giggling rang through the garden and Bellatrix smiled softly, looking over fondly to where Hermione sat on a blanket with Nymphadora and Ted, Andromeda’s husband now apparently, reading to the baby from a colourful muggle book. 

Sunlight washed over them gently and she was so distracted by the way it made Hermione’s eyes sparkle, she nearly missed her niece's hair turn from the dark black ringlets it had been all day to wild, untamed chestnut locks that perfectly mirrored the witch reading to her.

She turned wide eyed to Andromeda and Narcissa where they sat next to her, frowning as they laughed lightly at her.

“It happens all the time, Bella. She’s a metamorph, best I can tell.” Andromeda shrugged, dark eyes locked on her husband and child and a gentle smile capturing her face.

Narcissa nodded enthusiastically next to her, “Or just really good with magic. Who knows, she’s a Black afterall.”

Bellatrix hummed, eyes casting once again over Hermione before settling back into her chair to observe her sisters.

They hadn’t changed much, Andromeda perhaps softer around the edges, less sharp wit and more gentle chiding now that she was a mother, flitting around occasionally to make sure everyone had what they needed and was happy. 

Narcissa had matured some, through age and the hardships of a war she shouldn’t have had to be part of, the angles of her face more defined and the twist of her lips sharper, but she was just as excitable, just as happy and chatty and eager as she always had been.

Sirius, currently inside with a strange device Hermione had called a telephone pressed to his ear, had, unsurprisingly, not changed in the slightest. Bellatrix supposed she should stop expecting him to at this point, his grin still too wide and innocent to be believable and eyes the crashing storm of laughter and grief he’d worn since he was fifteen.

There was a strange comfort in it, the unchanging features and personalities of her family. The steadfastness in which they existed. The unending quality to their love and sense of family, in that no matter the distance or time that separated them, they would inevitably find their way back to each other.

She watched on amused, as Narcissa described in excruciating detail and with fervent enthusiasm the class she’d attended recently at Beauxbatons about Herbology and its medicinal applications, humming occasionally and rolling her eyes secretly at Andromeda when their youngest sister wasn’t looking.

Hermione fell into her lap suddenly, drawing a surprised ‘oomph’ from the dark witch beneath her and a round of laughter from everyone else, Ted appeared at the corner of her vision, a sleeping Nymphadora in his arms, her hair now a shocking shade of pink, handing her over carefully to Andromeda who fussed her for a moment before heading inside to put her down.

“So, what are we discussing?” Hermione’s smile shone as she glanced around the group, Narcissa launching back into her monologue about Beauxbatons just as Andromeda appeared with Sirius in tow, arguing over her shoulder with him about the proper alert charms to place on a baby's cot.

Bellatrix wound an arm around a slim waist, wiggling and adjusting until the younger witch was molded against her, back pressed tight to her front and head leaning back to rest against a strong shoulder.

She pressed a kiss to the skin of her exposed collar, smiling serenely at the image of her family spread out before her and hovered her lips near the curve of a small ear, “I love you too.”

* * *

Christmas had never been a particularly happy time throughout Bellatrix’s childhood. She remembered arguments and tantrums and curses thrown, long, uncomfortable family dinners and dresses that were too tight and kind of itchy.

There was always some sort of shady deal going on under the table with the various families they would invite round, notably the betrothal of Bellatrix and her sisters and later the selling of their loyalty to the self styled Lord Voldemort.

One christmas from her childhood she remembered fondly, the one she’d spent at Hogwarts the year of the Triwizard Tournament, tucked away in the Slytherin common room with her sisters and Hermione, a pile of presents and too much hot chocolate.

So it was with trepidation and a little fear she opened her eyes that morning, recoiling slightly at the wide grey eyes that stared back at her before blinking quickly and chuckling, reaching up to shift the small form of her niece from her chest to her side and pushing the question of how she’d gotten out of her cot to the back of her mind.

Hermione slept peacefully next to her, bare shoulder peeking up over the blankets and hair scattered haphazardly about her face. Bellatrix leaned over to press a kiss to cheek, sighing as she stretched her back and summoned her dressing gown from the back of the door.

The house was dark and quiet as she crept down the stairs, a giggling Nymphadora pressed securely to her side. She smiled down at the tiny girl, wincing slightly as chubby fists tugged at her curls, but all was forgiven as her hair shifted from the buttery yellow she’d be so fond of the past few days to pitch black ringlets in a perfect imitation of her aunts.

Passing the living room Bellatrix was quick to distract her mini-me, the large piles of presents easily visible from the open door and though it was tempting, she knew Andromeda would legitimately murder her if she allowed Nymphadora to open any without everyone awake and downstairs.

So she wandered into the kitchen, setting the baby down in her high chair and moving around the room confidently, flipping the switch to turn on the kettle and setting up mugs for everyone to be filled as they woke up, grabbing a bottle from the fridge and bowl from the cupboard to warm it.

Andromeda’s kitchen was distinctly muggle, very few magical touches obvious throughout it, but Bellatrix felt incredibly at home in it, leaning against the counter and wiggling her eyebrows at her niece to keep her occupied whilst she waited for a bottle.

It was another half hour before she was joined in the kitchen by Andromeda, her smile easy as she kissed the back of Nymphadora’s head and wished them both a ‘Merry Christmas’ before moving to turn the kettle back on and make herself a cup of tea.

It must have been a common occurrence for the baby to escape her cot and wander about upstairs as her sister made no comment and asked no questions about their presence in the kitchen.

The thought brought a smile to her lips and Bellatrix chuckled quietly under her breath, pleased in a wicked way that Andromeda’s daughter was already shaping up to be a handful, same as her mum.

People trickled into the room gradually as the sun started to crest the hills, each greeting the room with a ‘Merry Christmas’ of varying levels of alertness and cheer. Hermione appeared at the table so suddenly Bellatrix had to blink to remind herself that, no, she hadn’t been there the whole time.

Her whole frame vibrated in excitement and she bounced an equally excitable Nymphadora on her knee, cooing at the baby and talking to her in a serious manner that Bellatrix found adorable, even if the conversation was about semi-successful human transfiguration and its after effects, Hermione’s latest research project as part of one of her masteries.

The group eventually moved to the living room when the kitchen started to get a bit cramped, Hermione entering last with the baby now emulating her mini-me, all brown doe eyes and messy hazel hair and beaming grin.

Bellatrix settled into the couch next to Sirius and Narcissa, rolling her eyes as they squabbled over who got to be in charge of the camera, Narcissa eventually winning on the argument that Sirius would get too distracted by the presents and forget to actually take pictures.

She watched contentedly as Hermione helped Nymphadora unwrap her gifts, colourful paper littering the floor around them as the baby squealed in delight every time something new was revealed, wondering briefly if Hermione wanted kids of their own at some point.

Sirius nudged her, grinning back at her frown and rolling his shoulders, “Go sit with them?” he held up the camera he’d obviously stolen from a pouting Narcissa as he spoke, tilting his head toward the pair she’d been watching and she nodded happily, standing up and carefully making her way through the piles of paper and toys and clothes to sit in the clear spot at Hermione’s side.

Leaning over to press a kiss to her nieces head, she caught Hermione’s eye, winking and rearranging them slightly to face Sirius for a picture, slipping her arm around the younger witches waist and grinning broadly.

A brief flash illuminated the room, Sirius having switched to magical film for this picture, before Narcissa swiped the camera back out of his hand, hitting him lightly in the arm with a cushion as she complained about him ‘thinking he could do what he wanted, just because he was the oldest’.

Hermione laughed beside her, bright and happy, and Bellatrix turned to face her, leaning in to kiss her properly for the first time all morning and resting their foreheads together when they separated.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

Cinnamon eyes shone back her, nose crinkling in a smile so wide Bellatrix thought her cheeks might split, “Merry Christmas, darling.”

And Bellatrix tried not to let her eyes stray too often to the small, neatly wrapped box that sat at the back of the mountain of presents, heart full and calm and sure as she rested her gaze back on the woman before her.

* * *

Birds chirped incessantly outside the window and Bellatrix bemoaned Hermione’s need to sleep in a cool room, reaching for her wand clumsily as she refused to open her eyes, finding it eventually and flicking it toward the source of the noise, satisfied when she heard the window click shut.

Rolling back over and going back to sleep was certainly out of the question as the delicious ache in her body made itself known and the sudden knowledge of how it came to be bringing a smile to her face that was reminiscent of a cheshire cat.

Spring was far from Bellatrix’s ideal season, everything was bright and growing and being born, whereas she preferred to project an aura of doom and gloom and snark, but Hermione loved the spring.

She loved the way everything was new and fresh, how trees regrew their leaves and flowers pushed up through ground that had only just stopped being frozen. She loved the bright transitioning colours and the abundance of baby animals.

She loved that it marked new beginnings.

So when she’d begged and pleaded, and practically demanded at one point, a spring wedding, Bellatrix had smiled at her and hummed and nodded and decided she’d never again say no to the witch if it meant Hermione would smile the way she had again.

They’d said their vows in a muggle church, surrounded by family and friends, and Bellatrix had done her best not to scowl as Harry and Ron had carried Hermione around on their shoulders for a full fifteen minutes, chanting the words to some ridiculous song as Ginny and George joined in.

Hermione had only laughed, somehow convincing the boys to risk life and limb and ambush Bellatrix to give her the same treatment, though thankfully for a much shorter time.

The reception had been held in a wizarding pub, neither woman trusting their guests enough to hold it in a muggle establishment. Flowers had been grown over seemingly every available surface, and Bellatrix grinned and shrugged at Hermione’s raised eyebrow, happy that the younger witch was happy.

Their first dance had been to some ridiculously cheesy muggle song Hermione had insisted on, pressed tightly together as Bellatrix traced patterns over the exposed skin of her lower back, thanking every deity and her sisters for convincing her bride to wear a backless dress.

Cake had been cut and pushed into each other's face and eaten, champagne drunk and more than one embarrassing speech given.

But Bellatrix remembered most of it in a blur. Certain parts were seared into her memory, never to be recalled in anything less than perfect detail, but large parts of the day were encompassed entirely in memories of watching Hermione, thinking about Hermione or talking to Hermione.

She stretched, arms reaching high above her head until her shoulders popped and moaned at the relief, sinking back down into the mountain of pillows and blankets and smiling over at her wife as she shuffled sleepily in the bed, eventually snuggling into Bellatrix’s side with an arm thrown over her hips and sighing in content.

It had never occurred to her, all those years ago, that the war would have an end that wasn’t her death, but as she brushed her fingers through wild chestnut hair and pressed a kiss the freckles that littered a bare shoulder, she couldn’t be happier that it did.


End file.
